jump and the coffee pot drops to the ground,
shattering and making an awful noise.
Perfect. If I had wanted to hide, at this point it
would be impossible.
I take a deep breath and grab the first thing that
I can, which happens to be an empty bottle of
Jamesonwhich was left on the counter. I slowly
creep towards the door leading to the back with the
bottle raised over my head, when I hear someone
cursing. I peek out just as far as necessary to see a
figure with his back to me. He’s wearing a leather
jacket and has a shaved head and he’s rubbing the
back of his neck. I let out my sigh and lower the
bottle.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, coming out
of the shadows with my hands on my hips.
Patrick jumps in the air and lands with his hand
on his heart, afraid.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he yells
with a sleepy, drunk, and who knows what else
kind of voice.
“A bit early to open, isn’t it?” I ask pointedly.
“And don’t you have a house?” he retorts,
eyebrow raised in challenge.
It’s always like this between us. We always bait
each other and say the worst things, but working
here with him is nice and can even be relaxing
somehow. When he’s working here the nights go
by quickly and my head is free from heavy
thoughts.
